


You Better Run

by Queen_Walrus_Approximately



Category: classic rock - Fandom
Genre: 1960s, 1960s Music, 60s music, 60s music scene, Blood, Captivity, M/M, Murder, Obsession, Rock and Roll, Stalker, kidnap, pyschopath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-11
Updated: 2017-04-11
Packaged: 2018-10-17 20:16:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10601442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Queen_Walrus_Approximately/pseuds/Queen_Walrus_Approximately
Summary: John Lennon gets obsessed w Brian Jones in a terrible way, altering his mind forever...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dana_ohara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dana_ohara/gifts).



The obsession started when we gave them that song to record. 1963. Being the only strawberry blonde in the lot, he caught my eye the quickest. And his demeanour, it struck me as odd for a man. Skittish, a bit of a wallflower, but his style said otherwise. He dressed sharp, like he wanted the attention on him, but he stood quite, and behind the others, quietly observing. Just as I was observing him, quietly.  
The more I observed Mr. Jones, the more perplexed I became, and more determined I was to figure him out. Just then, Brian looked across the room to me, and gave to me a shy, tight lipped smile. I smiled back, and went over to introduce myself. That was the last time we spoke, it was 1 year ago.  
1964 now, and I'm still torturing myself with our last meeting. It's become my own mental prison, which I could not escape. All I could do was think of Brian Jones. What about him made me tick? Was it his stature? His appearance? Did I find him physically appealing? Or was I attracted to another part of him; his mind? His quite, seemingly secretive disposition?  
My questions, like worms, ate at my brain, making me useless to work on anything else. All else was minuscule to Brian, all I could ever think, dream, or live for was the quietest of the Rolling Stones.  
And now another year has gone by, making it 1965, and I'm no longer the same John Lennon as I was in '63. This new John has new eyes, a new mind. This new John has a new schedule, a schedule he plans to fulfil. This new John, he looks among the crowd, looking for his lunch date. He invited Brian to lunch, finally having enough with the waiting old John had put him through. He lights a cigarette, just as Brian made an appearance. This John smiles at Brian, falsely warm, and motions for Brian to sit. Meanwhile I look on, from some place in my mind, helpless beyond my own means.  
He fed Brian lies, and falsely laughed at the jokes that the other man told. Soon, he sweet talked Brian into coming back to his place to help write a song. I watched as Brian looked warily at new John, but didn't want to insult him, so complied. They stood up, and walked to get a cab.  
The whole ride, John leered at Brian, making him uncomfortable, but he didn't say a word. They arrived at John's house, and he opened the door for Brian, letting him walk in first. He closed the door after following him in, and locked the door silently.  
"Uh, nice place you got here, Lennon..." Brian tried to make commentary, the silence thick with foreboding. John walked up close behind him, and grabbed him by the shoulders.  
"Ehhh..." Brian tried to walk away, but John held firm. John titles his head down and sniffed his hair, having been obsessed with it for the past two years.  
"Hey, mate, what are you trying to pull with me?" Brian shrugged out of his hold , and backed away, apprehension showing clear on his face.  
John dropped his arms, and smiled a little. A cold, calculated smile; devoid of any real pleasure. It was more or less a show of his disease. His eyes held no humour, but were hard as ice. He pulled a knife from the back of his jeans, and waved it in front of his own face, while walking slowly forward towards Brian, who's eyes widened in surprise.  
Brian looked around frantically, and chose a random direction to flee, which was down the hall towards the bedroom. John advanced on him, like a predator. He uncontrollably let out manic laughter, while following Brian into the room he fled to.  
Turning the corner, he saw Brian opening the window, and laughed all the harder. Brian heard him far too late, for when he turned around, John already was wrapping an arm around his neck, pulling him back.  
"Where do you think yer going, pet?" John whispered in Brian's ear as he dragged him to the other side of the room. Brian kicked his legs, unable to respond, John's arm constricting his lungs.  
John slammed Brian's back against the wall, causing a loss of breathe, and pressed his body against his. John drew the blade lightly across Brian's cheek, from his jaw to his lip. He dug the tip of the knife a little deeper, going across the cheek again, this time drawing a line of blood.  
Brian couldn't scream, couldn't even talk, as he watched in horror, mouth gaping, as John took the blade and ran his tongue across it, staring him in the eye, tasting Brian's blood.  
John looked ponderous for a moment, then smiled a grin so frightful, Brian wished he was dead already.  
Brian squirmed, and John pinned him tighter against the wall, raising him up a bit. He caressed the side of Brian's face, then grabbed his cheek roughly. He was so petrified, he couldn't produce any tears, nor could he make a sound, but rather just shook uncontrollably. The lack of tears, though, angered John. He wanted some sort of reaction for his efforts. Still smiling, he brought his knife up, showing the sharpened blade to his victim, then jammed it into his shoulder, through the other side, and into the dry wall.  
Brian screamed in pain, and Lennon backed of, leaving him to stand on his tiptoes, clutching at the blade that pierced his body. He wheezed in pain, body convulsing, eyes pricking with tears, breathing unsteady.  
  "Why- Are you- doing- THIS?" Brian asked through his coarse, dry sobs. He stared Lennon in the eye, with pain on his face, but only saw a cold mask in return.  
John proceeded to pace around the room, looking conflicted. After several minutes, he paused and looked at Brian.  
" I don't know," John admitted, " I just know, for the past two years, you have haunted my dreams, my thoughts, and I needed to get rid of you physically, in order to get rid of you, mentally." He shook his head, again like he was having an internal conflict, running his hand through his own hair forcefully. He turned away from Brian, towards the window. Brian, making a quick decision to save his life, pulled the dagger out of the wall to release himself, fighting back a scream. Tears of pain ran down his face, his lip cracked open and bleeding from biting it.  
He slipped out the doorway and ran quietly down the hall, the dagger in his shoulder slicing him from the inside with every step. He stopped. He didn't know where the hell he was in the house. Hyperventilating now, he looked about frantically, until he heard a shout from where he had just come from.  
"There's no running," John shouted, then laughed manically, like it was a child's game of hide of seek.  
Brian saw a shiny object on the counter across the room from him, and he took a double take; a phone. He ran to it, with a wash of hope. He began to dial the police when he noticed there was no dial tone. He looked at the wall, and dread's heavy curtains fell on him again.  
The line had been cut.  
He yelled in frustration, threw the phone across the room, and it hit another object. He turned to look at John, who was standing with anger in his eyes.  
Brian didn't know how he'd get out of this alive. He pressed his back against the counter, bracing with his hands. But a sharp pain shot through his shoulder, and he whimpered, remembering the knife lodged into his tendons and muscle of his shoulder. He shuddered a breath, staring Lennon in the eye as the diseased man slowly walked forward.  
"It's time for ye to pay your dues," he announced, a stone cold killer replacing the carefree man from two years ago.  
John grabbed the helpless man by the hair, and forced him to the ground, forcefully throwing him. Brian landed on his stomach, and the knife stabbed deeper in his pit, leading him to scream in agony. John dug his knee into his back, and forced Brian's head and upper body backward and up by the hair. Lennon reached around and grabbed the dagger, sliding it out of place, the jagged teeth of the blade doing more damage. John chuckled at the blood dripping out of the wound and off the knife, onto his white carpet.  
Brian looked over his shoulder, and saw the psychopath licking his weapon clean. He didn't have a single care about how bloody fucked up that was, he was too busy with not passing out from his whole predicament.  
Brian felt his hair tugged sharply again, and a painful tug on it proceeded. John was pulling his hair so tightly that huge chunks of strawberry blonde hair pulled out of his scalp. He felt blood drip down his forehead, saw piles of his hair float down in front of his head. He could feel his trousers being tugged at next, until they were off and across the room. Then after John unzipped and lowered his own trousers, he hiked Brian's hips up and spread his legs and cheeks. Brian closed his eyes, hoping to die soon. He felt dehumanised, worthless. He felt the sharp penetration, and then John moving in and against him. Covered in his own blood, helplessly pinned under another man in the ground, who was now having his vile, naughty way with him. At first he tried to get out from under him, trying to prevent from his forced participation in this act, but John lashed out, slicing at his back so much he was sure he looked like a flayed fish, laying in its own soiled bed.  
After John finished with him 3 times, Brian lay in his growing pool of blood, staring across the room at the wall. John kicked him in the side, and he groaned, rolling over, looking up but not at him. No, he wouldn't look John in the eye, not anymore.  
The monster grabbed him by his bloody sliced arms, and dragged him down the hall. He opened a door and kicked Brian into the darkness. That darkness went down, and so did Brian's body. He tumbled down the stairs, and lay broken at the landing. John closed and locked the door, and when he sensed he was finally alone, he let the tears fall down his face to the cement below him.  
The same treatment was passed to him for a few months, and every night he cried himself to sleep on the cement. The Stones looked for him for a few weeks, and when there was no turn up, they easily went on without him, figuring he abandoned them. The other Beatles had no idea about John's sick afternoon delights. Not a single person suspected. And no one knows how long Brian had been dead when the authorities searched John's house on a drug raid. But after the discovery, the rock world was at loss of words. Two musicians, dead. Brian at the hand of John, and Lennon's legacy, his own undoing.


End file.
